


Cullen's Cottage

by TinyFoxParade



Series: Bastien Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, History of trauma, Memories, Slow Burn, finding memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 02:59:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFoxParade/pseuds/TinyFoxParade
Summary: Cullen went over the falls in the Arbor Wilds and was presumed dead. Search parties scoured the falls for weeks with no sign aside from a piece of armor with a seemingly fatal gash. Meanwhile, Cullen wakes up to an unfamiliar face in an unfamiliar place.(Begins after Cullen goes over the falls, splits and eventually converges with Stumbling)





	1. Chapter 1

 “Cole, can you sense anything?” Bastien pleaded, they were out of options. Cole’s silence dragged on so long Solas ventured over to place a hand on his shoulder, startling him back to the present.

“I…can’t. It is in the way.” Cole wrung his hands distressed, his voice wavered.

“What do you mean?”  Bastien struggled to keep his tone steady, nails digging into the firm wood of the war table as he struggled to remain standing.  

“ _I can’t see him._ It won’t let me.” Cole shook his head, the flaps of his oversized hat jostling with the motion.

“What is ‘It’?” Solas prompted, his eye rooted to the spirits face.

“There is a barrier…wards… powerful…” The strain was apparent on the spirits face.

“So he is captured by apostates?” Bastien snarled, waiting for affirmation.

“…sort of.” He murmured. “Secret. Safe. Secure. It’s not safe… not safe… Unseen, hidden, hiding, forced, do what I can…“

“Cole.” Solas placed his hand on Cole’s shoulder. “That is enough, thank you.”

“So, Cullen is missing and no one knows where he is? We never should have left the Wilds without him!” Bastien leaned hard against the war table, staring hard at the map spread before him, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

“Bastien, you needed medical attention.” Dorian interrupted, bracing a hand on his shoulder.

A loud bang resonated as Bastien’s fist hit the table, causing everyone in the room to take a step back. “Damnit - someone FIND HIM!”

\---

He was so cold, his body wouldn’t stop shaking. Icy water rushed in trough a gash in his armor, curling in to torrent over the torn flesh of his back.

 _How was I injured?_ His languid mind ventured through the sludge of his thoughts.

Thunder cracked loud overhead, a bright flash of light lit the riverbed around him as fat and icy droplets began to smatter against the remainder of his armor and the side of his face. He pushed his palm against the muddy bank, his hand slipping in the muck, jarring his wound as he fell. He clenched his teeth, and tried once more, failing miserably and sliding further into the bank.

_This is where I die._

Something soft and warm brushed against his cheek, pushing his soaked and mud caked hair from his cheek. His eyes cracked open, blurry and unfocused. A dark silhouette leaned over him, nearly blending in with the trees along the bank. The back of his mind tried to fire off in alarm, but he was too tired, too weak, so he merely groaned.

The silhouette shifted and leaned closer. Soft, damp hair fell against his cheek as the figure leaned over him and he winced as small, warm fingers prodded the edge of his gaping wound. He heard a hiss of teeth, a soft rustle of fabric, and then it all faded to nothingness.

\---

Soft fir tickled his cheek as he began to wake, something warm against the back of his neck. His mind was sluggish, unfocused as he tried to discern his location. Soft, warm scents permeated the air, flooding his nostrils. Wherever he was, it was warm, and for a moment that was all that mattered. A fire cracked cheerfully nearby, its rustic scent mingling with the softer scents in the furs. The scent of roasting meat began to infiltrate the others, making his mouth water and his stomach growl. A smile tugged his lips, memories of home flooding his thoughts. But where was home? Where was he?

He managed to open one of his eyes, peering over his shoulder as the world slowly began to come into focus. He was lying on his stomach on a small bed, tucked away in the corner of a small room. Sunlight washed over him from a window somewhere behind him, dust motes sparkling happily as they flitted through. Old, well kept wooden walls faded to similar floors covered in woven carpets, once brightly colored now worn and slightly faded, their color brightest along the rim, the pattern elaborate and strange.

The fireplace was near his head, the hearth surrounded by different baskets overflowing with produce, the luscious smell of roasting meat radiated from the slab on the spit, dripping grease with a hiss in flames beneath.

He couldn’t see the ceiling, not from this angle, but his eyes followed along the floors, freezing when he saw feet approaching, stopping before the hearth, he heard a creak of metal as the spit was turned, locking in those precious juices. They were small and delicate, the still slightly blurred figure shifting on tip toes to reach something above their head. The skin was tan, calloused from walking barefoot, the ankles were slender, reaching to toned calves before disappearing into a sunset colored dress. It shifted as the figure dropped back down to their heels, letting out a sigh, swaying with the motions of hips dancing to some unknown song being hummed by unseen lips.

The sound nearly made him shut his eyes once more, but he forced them to follow the dress up to a narrow waist, tied with a red leather belt, up to a cascade of dark hair, rolling in waves down the persons back, to narrow shoulders bare in the thinly strapped dress, the ample chest still covered modestly. He knew he would usually be embarrassed for looking, but right now the meat had his attention a bit more. His gaze flicked back to it and he tried to move. Maker, did it hurt. His back screamed in agony.

The figure rushed forward as he hissed through his teeth, the sudden movement causing him to tense and pain to radiate down his spine. He fell forward once more, his air leaving him in a rush. Soft hands brushed at his tensed face, through his hair, over his bare shoulder, along with soft words uttered in a strange language had an immensely calming effect and after a few moments his breathing became less ragged and he was able to open his eyes.

The breath rushed out of him once more. Bright aquamarine eyes stared back at him, wide with concern and impossibly gentle, set behind thick, dark lashes. Her soft, inviting lips were parted, moving with the foreign words as she tried to console him. The cadence of her voice was…perfect. She was perfect.

But who was she?

She stopped speaking, much to his dismay, and shook her head, the heavy waves of her hair bouncing with the motion as they fell to frame her face. She cleared her throat.

“Are you in pain?” His eyes went wide, she was speaking common but her accent was incredibly pleasant, not Orlesian, definitely not Ferelden…Antivan? No...

“Who-“ The fragment of a word set off a coughing fit, his voice weak and unused, his throat impossibly dry. Each cough set a jarring pain through his back and his eyes slammed shut, opening once more as delicate hands pried at his shoulders, trying to turn him. He tried to help, but was relatively useless. After some struggle, he was seated upright. Something wedged behind him, helping him sit up while something cool was pressed into his palm.

He guzzled the mixture greedily, the cool liquid flowing like mana from heaven, perfect aside from the bitter elfroot mixed in, but that did absolute wonders for the sharp pain in his throat thanks to the cough. He finished the glass and huffed out a sigh, leaning heavily against whatever he was propped on. His back encountered a wonderfully firm and soft pillow, shifting to support him. It took him a few moments to realize this pillow was the mysterious woman. He felt heat creep along his cheeks and he tried to sit up, only to be reprimanded.

“No, lie back.” She instructed, shifting out from behind him and replacing where she sat with actual pillows, enabling him to sit halfway up without too much strain in his back. “You must be starving.”

She turned back towards the fire, pulling a dagger from the mantle and checking the readiness of the meat. She nodded and picked up a nearby plate, loading it with a generous portion of what seemed to be ram. His mouth watered as the juice pooled on the plate, steam drifting lazily from the tender flesh still a little pink in the center. She used a small hook and rummaged through the coals, shifting out a small, charred object, then another. Using a rag, she scrubbed them clean to reveal two red potatoes. His mouth only watered more, his stomach growled violently as she set the potatoes on the plate and they began to roll in the ram’s juice. She offered him the plate, a fork and a knife, turning to refill his drink.

He knew he should thank her first, that he should force himself to have some kind of manners, to give his thanks to the Maker, take his time… but he couldn’t stop himself from diving into the food, taking large and greedy bites as the juice from what was definitely ram trickled down his chin, flavors spilling over his tongue for the three bites he allowed before swallowing. He froze mid bite when wonderful laughter chimed over his skin.

“Slow down. You will make yourself sick.” He glanced over to the woman as she held out his refilled glass, a glorious, warm smile on her perfect lips. He cleared his throat and took the glass. “Take your time, there is no rush. When you are finished, I will change your bandage.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing the mouthful mournfully. He washed it down with some of the water mixture before attempting to speak once more.

“Thank you.” He whispered, not willing to speak fully lest he burst into another coughing fit. She turned a moment and smiled at him, her eyes warm and gentle as she gave him a small nod, as if she’d done something as simple as helped him get directions, instead of likely saving his life, if the pain in his back was anything to go by, if that memory of a river was real.

He finished the remainder of his food much slower, his eyes roving over the small, quaint cottage. A variety of herbs hung from the ceiling, several he didn’t recognize but he was never that proficient with them. A few potted plants sat in a small planter by a window, a sunbeam casting down upon them as they leaned toward its warm rays. Soft ivory curtains, thin and useless for any shade swayed lazily in the breeze, brushing along the floor. The room wasn’t that large, but it was cozy and not at all crowded, despite the apparent clutter of the counters in what looked to be a makeshift kitchen, the stacks of books beside a lone shelf filled to the brim and a solitary bronze tub standing in the corner.

He could really use a bath. The realization dawned with a slow horror, that he would smell so foul around such a beautiful woman. He felt the blush start back up again when she returned to take his plate, depositing it into a small bucket before grabbing a basin, rag, and several bandages as well as a jar of green glop he could only guess was a poultice.

“Can you lie back on your stomach?” She spoke gently, as if to a child, as she placed her hand gently on his shoulder. He blushed slightly harder and nodded, slowly and carefully turning himself to not move his back. He was still very weak, but he felt much better with a belly full of food. He set himself gently down, sinking into the plush bed. He let out a sigh as the warm scent enveloped him once more.

“Don’t move.” She said gently, the bed shifting with her weight as she knelt over him. He winced as the bandage was slowly peeled away. “I am sorry, I should not have left it so long.”

“It’s quite alright.” He murmured into the blankets, the burning slowly began to turn into an itch and he couldn’t resist wiggling slightly. “It itches.”

She hummed, “It is healing.” He nearly moaned as a feather light scrape of nails traced along the still intact flesh of his back, just out of the margins of the wound. It felt so damn good, he wanted to lean into it, he wanted to moan and groan, but he bit his cheek instead.

“Does it hurt?” She froze and he shook his head, she smiled and resumed tracing her nails along his spine, a soft lilting laugh washed over him. “Very well.”

She didn’t continue much longer before applying the rag, carefully removing the rest of the old poultice. In some areas, the soft cloth felt wonderful, scraping lightly against his skin, in others it was miserable, the flesh too tender to want any sort of attention. She hummed, her tone pleased. “It is healing rather well. You should be able to move about or bathe in another day or so.”

A day or so? Cullen cursed internally, he would smell much worse by then. She seemed to pick up on this and he saw a smile on her face as she leaned to look him in the eye.

“At least at the spring, you may have privacy and the basin when you are strong enough to walk.” She smiled, pulling her head back to apply the cooling, numbing poultice. It was a bit startling at first, but as she applied it against his skin and the numbing began to take effect, he felt each muscle begin to relax with the relief.

A small, white line traced the underside of her jaw, he noticed, not that he was staring. It was several shades lighter than her tanned skin, standing out harshly as it cut its way in jagged slashes, as if skipping along her jaw. He cringed, he’d seen enough battle wounds to know what had caused that; someone tried to slit her throat. He sighed to himself, that’s what you would expect in a war zone, the absolute worst. For all he knew, she merely cut it…doing something else like climbing and scraping it on a rock... Or something.

He had to prop himself up on his arms for her to wrap the bandage around his torso, thankfully she moved very quickly, because he fell back onto the bed shortly after, exhausted. He barely registered her words as he fell back asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When he woke once more, the soft light of the rising sun was drifting through the windows, and he was alone. There was no food on the fire, though it sparked happily, and the gentle sway of the curtains was the only motion. He slowly pushed himself to sitting, his back significantly better. He thought he remembered waking to eat, to relieve himself with an embarrassing amount of assistance, having his bandage changed once more, it was all so blurry he couldn’t quite recall when any of that had occurred. Where was he?

The door opened softly, a barely audible creak filling the silence of the room. The woman returned, arms supporting two large baskets. He tried to stand and help her, but a look from her made him stay put.

“I know you are feeling better, but you cannot go back to your normal activities just yet.”  She set the items down on the counter with a huff. “If you want, we can walk around the cottage, but you cannot fall, I had a hard enough time getting you into that bed in the first place. I’d rather not do it again.”

She wiped her brow and gave him a wide, teasing smile as she began to place the produce filling the baskets into the ones near the fireplace, more potatoes, some carrots, a few apples, and a few ripe looking pears. His brow furrowed. How had this slight, wisp of a woman managed to get him here in the first place? Surely she’d had help? He glanced around; it didn’t look like there were any other inhabitants here aside from her, though it would comfortably accommodate a couple.

“How did you manage?” He shook his head, “To get me here, I mean.”

She paused what she was doing and hesitated, seeming to mull a thought over in her mind before smiling, “Determination.”

He stared at her blankly and she sighed, the smile not leaving her lips.

“Alright there may have been cursing. And a very large cooperative dog I had to bribe with a lion’s share of meat and promises. I did have to leave your armor though,” Her smile fell. “It was far too heavy, it would have been of no use to you. I am sorry if it was important to you.”

His armor? Why had he been wearing armor? He scowled.

She stood suddenly, her smile returning, digging in a small dresser and pulling out a fur mantle attached to a red cloak. “I did save this though. The back has a few stitches in it, like yourself, but it will work the same.” She smiled, holding it out for him, pleased to have kept a small piece of his armor.

A flash of it resting on a bed post, dragging it over his shoulders, fur tickling his cheeks in the breeze and tipped with snow… but he didn’t remember. It felt familiar, like he’d seen it before, worn it before, but was it his?

“Don’t you recognize it?” Her brow furrowed and she sat on the edge of the bed, the cloak resting in her lap, “You don’t remember. Try, what can you recall?”

He paused, thinking back as far as he could. He was startled to find he could recall very little. He knew he had siblings he cared for deeply, he knew he had a wonderful family and childhood, could even remember learning how to use a sword, anything beyond that…

“Do you remember your name?” She ventured, and his eyes lit up.  

“My name is Cullen.” He shook his head, “I have siblings… I can use a sword… _Maker,_ why can’t I remember?”

She pulled his forehead to her shoulder in a strangely intimate gesture he couldn’t help but sink into. “It’s alright. You will figure it out. It is common in severe injuries, especially trauma to the head and blood loss, for one to feel lost upon waking. Give it time, you will be able to return home.”

He frowned, something about that thought sent a chill down his spine, he tried to push it away but it only grew worse, causing his whole body to tremble, a cold sweat breaking over his brow and back. He tried to calm himself, to gain some control over whatever this was surging through is body, this screaming in his veins, but he could find no hold. She sighed and stood, gently releasing him and grabbing a small potion from the table, it radiated a soft blue light. He snatched it from her hands but froze before he could drink it. His blood pulsed beneath the vial, crying for it, demanding it.

_I should be taking it!_

He shook his head, but his own voice radiated within, tired and rasping, _Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?_

She urged him forward. “This will help you. There is only a small amount of lyrium –it will aid in the healing, it has been diluted with some crystal grace and elfroot, it will ease your symptoms just enough.”

His mind screamed to throw it out, to dash it upon the floor and be done with it, invoking his arm to launch it against the doorframe across the room, the glass shattered, raining liquid and glittering shards upon the floor. She flinched back, pressing into the wall herself as he clenched his fists, pressing them against his eyes, resisting the compulsion to race to the shards and lick them clean.

_Lyrium._

His head began to ache, thoughts flashing against his eyelids, playing as if a movie. A magical cage, pressing down on his shoulders, of mages twisting and warping into abominations, of blood tracing the steps like a lazy stream, pooling to cover him up.

He fell back sharp against the bed, his back arched at the pain but unable to move as the thoughts forced their way in, every muscle in his body taught with the sheer force of them all. Of a girl, sweet and frail, failing her harrowing and turning into a monster, of a templar blade, falling swift and cutting her cry short, distorting it to a muffled gurgle as the blood filled her lungs. Of a once vibrant and clever man, quick to laugh and always welcoming, becoming still and silent, eyes hollow beneath the sunburst on his forehead.

An image of his friends, twisted, warped, and tortured before him before finally succumbing to their injuries. Of them standing to rise once more, taunting him, encouraging him to join, demons tracing tongues along his ear, whispering incessantly. Of the beautiful Amell, saving him. Of his release and demand for the mages lives.

To the image of a man, encouraging him to stay strong, green eyes firm and imploring before it all faded away.

He sucked in a much needed breath, his body sagging heavily against the headboard. He was vaguely aware of small hands pressing at his shoulder and, with what little energy he had left he obliged them, leaning forward to burrow his face against the slender neck. Her fingers raked gently through his hair while a gentle voice cooed his safety, whatever nightmares he had seen, were over and done with and far from them, that she would keep him safe. He pressed his burning forehead against her skin and sighed heavily.

“Hush now, it is alright, you are safe here.” He wrapped his arms around a small waist and pulled her tightly against him at her words. She returned the gesture immediately, cradling him against her chest as his trembling began to subside. When he stilled, she pushed him back, helping him turn to lie on his stomach.  The hands began to pull and prod at his bandage, a _tsk_ resonating in his mind.

“You’re lucky this was as healed as it was. You’ve only split the center.” She sighed, pressing the bandage back down on his back. The poultice was still in place, and the wound would heal all the same. She stood once more, making her way to the basin in the corner to retrieve a damp cloth before returning, dabbing it gently on his forehead. She stayed silent, waiting for him to speak.

“I remembered.” He murmured into the pillow, his head still aching. “I was stationed at a circle… one of the mages became an abomination.” Her hand froze against his cheek, “My friends were brought back to life to taunt me, they tried to break me.” He didn’t hide the bitterness from his voice, his scowl fading only when he felt her shift away from him to stand. He turned to look at her, her hand raised, fingers lightly brushing the scar on her neck, her eyes wide and her skin unnaturally pale.

“You…you are a templar?” Her trembling voice was barely a whisper, a small, brittle thing. He furrowed his brow, why was she looking at him like that? He had given her no cause to fear him. He sat up, she stepped back.

“I am. Or…was.” He nodded, pleased to have a piece of his past once more in his grasp, but unnerved by her response. There was only one possible reason. He kept his voice as gentle as he could, since the war, you were lucky to find a single one of them who wouldn’t kill a templar on sight, or at least flee. _What war?_ “Are you a mage?”

Her shoulders curled in on themselves, her already slight frame looking much smaller as she took several steps backwards, hand now covering her throat, her entire body trembling.

“It doesn’t matter to me if you are, if that is any consolation.” He said gently, keeping his own posture small. He’d encountered several other mages terrified of templars and had managed to befriend them as well, she would be no different. He paused, _was that another memory_? He shook his head, he needed to focus on her, no matter how blurry she was becoming. “I know there are templars who would hurt you, but I am not one of them. I am not that kind of man.”

She was silent for a few moments, a few steps further away, her body still trembling, her voice barely a whisper. “How do you know?”

He started. He didn’t. He had no clue what he was like normally. But he didn’t hurt women…did he? He shook his head violently.

“It doesn’t matter. I do not want to be that man. I do not want to take…,” He gestured absently to the scattered remains of the potion on the floor, “ _that_ and I do not want to hurt anyone, especially not you. You saved my life.” He sat back forward in the bed, turning to drape his legs over the side, barely managing to stand with the aid of the bed post. She vaulted to the opposite side of the room, bracing a hand against the door. “Please! Wait!”

She froze, turning back to face him, door partially open. What could he say to console her? What could he do that would prove he was no threat to her safety? But the world was only growing blurrier, and his motion to stand did him no favors. He sat back down, falling heavily and jarring his wound but he hid the pain as best he could. He rubbed his eyes but the world remained unfocused.

The soft sound of footsteps fell short of him but he kept his eyes downturned, his stature as demure as he could manage. He felt something cool against his hand and he took it gently, her arm a blur as she withdrew. The glass in his hand smelled sweet and he downed it readily, trusting implicitly that she would not harm him, templar or no. Where he developed this sudden certainty he would never know.

The mixture slid down his throat and lit a fire in his veins. He covered his mouth as its warmth flooded him. His back no longer hurt, his vision was no longer blurred, and the ache in his head vanished. He looked at the glass, then up at her, but she refused to meet his eyes, her posture that of a submissive mage accustomed to abuse at the hands of templars.

“You would take drink from a mage?” Her voice was a bit stronger, “You would lower your guard when I could easily have poisoned you?”

“You wouldn’t.” He said firmly, his gaze raising to hers, those beautiful aquamarine eyes finally returning to meet his. “Just as I would never hurt you.”

“How would you know?” She scoffed.

“You fished me out of a river, hauled me to your home and have been tending me for Maker knows how long.” He smiled, “Your pride, if nothing else, would see me live.”

A small smile quirked her lips but was quickly checked. He set the glass down on the small table beside the bed and folded his hands against one another.

“I know I am probably overstepping…but did templars give you that scar?” He knew it was unnecessary for him to point to his own neck, but he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

Her hand touched the mark in question and she nodded. “I found them injured on the road and offered to heal them. Once they were well and on their feet, they tried to remove my head. If we had been further from town, I would have died in the street. I was lucky that mercenary group passed when they did, and that they were friendly. If that woman’s arrow hadn’t struck exactly how it did, if he hadn’t fallen precisely as he did, my throat would have been slit regardless.”

His features twisted, his voice a growl. “Templars should protect, not torture and slaughter.”

“In these times, you would be one of the few who think so.” Her voice was soft, her footsteps nearly silent as she approached. She stopped a few feet before him and sighed. “I am sorry, for reacting how I did.”

“I am sorry my so called brethren gave you cause.” He yawned widely, despite his best efforts. But the conversation was taxing, and this was the longest he had been awake, not to mention the longest he had been upright. When his eyes reached her face, her smile was soft.

“Sleep, it has been a busy day for you. Hopefully in the morning, you will be strong enough to walk around the cottage.” She seemed unsure a moment, but she nodded to herself, her eyes hardening with determination. “Lie on your stomach. Now that you know I am a mage, you do not need to be asleep for your healing and I do not have to slow the process.”

He blinked and did as he was told. He’d thought he was missing days with how quickly his wound was healing, but she’d just been using magic in his sleep. The man he’d seen in those memories would never let a mage touch him again, yet somehow he was at ease. What was he missing? What had changed him?

Through the bandage, he felt the pressure of her hands, followed by a soft, almost tingling sensation that quickly spread, erupting into relaxing warmth, like basking in the rays of the sun on a cool day or sinking into a hot spring after training. He sighed as the torn flesh began to mend, muscles he hadn’t realized were tight began to loosen. But his mind was a jumble of new information, both of her and of himself. A thought suddenly struck him hard, he didn’t know her name. He was about to part lips and ask, when the most wonderful tune began to reverberate through him as she hummed the same song he’d seen her swaying to before, and before he knew it, he was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When he woke, he was alone. The room was well lit with the rays of the sun as they pierced the thin curtains gently swaying in a breeze. Birds were a flutter outside, their shadows darting to and fro in the beam of light.

“Hush now, you’ve had plenty.” Her voice lilted on a laugh through the open window and he immediately smiled. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling worlds better than he had the day before. His body radiated energy with his nearly healed wound. He would still need to move slow, his body would still be stiff and the newly knitted flesh would be friable, but he could manage. He wondered if she’d slowed the process to keep him thinking it was healing naturally.

On the foot of the bed, he saw a large tunic. He lifted it, and found the back had stitching in it to match his scar. He sighed at the sheer size of it, as well as the damage in the only garment he possessed. He pulled it carefully over his head, happy to finally have his chest somewhat covered, and carefully stood. His legs ached at his own weight, tired from misuse and remaining sedentary for so long. He slowly moved forward, stopping at the window to peer outside. He smiled wide at the sight.

She sat in a bright yellow dress on a cut log, likely used for chopping firewood, her knees curled into her chest. The gentle breeze tugged at her now pulled back hair, tugging a few strands free of their confines to drift lazily in its grip. All around her feet were little birds, some brightly colored, others easily mistaken for leaves, all hopping excitedly at her feet as she tossed bits of bread to them.

Movement in the tree line scattered the birds and she grew very still, watching it intently. The head of a rather large mabari appeared, blood on its dark grey muzzle, dripping as it approached her. Cullen’s body went rigid and he turned a bit too quickly and rushed, as fast as his stiff frame would allow, to the door. He wrenched it open and stepped forward, only to freeze. The beast was rolling about no more than a foot away, digging its muzzle in the grass to clean it and her face was lit with a smile.

“Have a nice jaunt through the woods I take it?” She laughed, leaning over to scratch the beast’s chest, her necklace falling forward to glint in the sunlight. The mabari’s foot kicked violently at her efforts, “Bring anything back to share?”

The beast huffed and reluctantly stood, shaking free bits of grass and leaves before jogging back out to the darkness of the tree line.  A few moments later, its backside reappeared, dragging the carcass of a deer. It turned and looked as though it was going to bark happily in reply, but its eyes locked on Cullen in the doorway. Its ears flattened against his head, tongue lolling to the side as it bounded over to him to sniff at his hand. He tensed but the beast seemed content to jump around by his feet excitedly.  She followed close behind him. “I am surprised to see you up.”

“Not more than myself, I assure you.” He smiled, flexing his hands and shaking his head, “Your magic is incredible.”

She nodded, her smile only growing wider at the compliment, “You are very welcome.”

They stayed silent a moment before she turned, patting the dog on the head, “Harel, come help me with this thing.”

She made her way back over to the fallen stag, pulling its antler while the beast pulled at its shoulder, dragging it across the yard. She placed her hands on her hips and sighed, “We’ll have meat for days. Good work.”

The mabari barked happily, spinning and jumping in the air before pressing his head against her hand to be scratched behind the ears, something resembling a grin spread over its features. With a snap of her fingers, the carcass was covered with frost. She patted the beast on the head once more before turning to approach Cullen.

“Alright, let’s see your wound.” He blushed at the command, but obeyed. He felt her gentle touch tracing over his back and tried to ignore the chills spreading over his skin. The tingle resumed, followed by the relaxing warmth, and his eyes felt heavy. “Another day or so and you should be good as new.”

The sensation fled with the removal of her hand, and he quickly replaced his shirt. She vanished into the house a moment, leaving him alone with the mabari who seemed intent to stare him over. It was surprisingly unnerving. She returned shortly after, a scrap of hide and a wicked looking dagger in her hand as she moved towards the carcass but he caught her wrist before she got far, and she turned to look him over, concern on her features. He dropped her wrist and rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks burning.

“I…uh… I don’t believe I caught your name?” He stammered. Excellent, now that he was no longer injured he was a stammering fool.

“I never gave it.” She smiled, continuing on her way. She sat by the carcass and he joined her shortly after, taking his time to slowly sit on the stump she had just vacated. He wasn’t sure he could stand were he to sit fully upon the ground.

“Why not?”

“I didn’t know if I could trust you.” She spoke without hesitation, but the words still stung. They were perfectly justified of course, she knew nothing about him, and how could she? He knew nothing about himself. She seemed to notice the hurt look in his eyes and smiled, laying out the hide and reaching a hand out to him, dagger presented. “But I do now. My name is Maerin, and it is nice to meet you, Cullen.”

He grinned even as the heat spread to his cheeks in what he was certain was a heavy blush. He shifted forward and took the dagger, beginning to skin the cold stag. The mabari groomed himself off to the side and the small, tittering birds returned, hopping about the small yard. His gaze began to wander, from the dense forest of the perimeter, a lush mixture of rich pines and stark white birch, around to a small, fenced off garden, thick with produce. Further back were more trees, colorful fruits ripening on their branches. He paused in his work and turned to look at the cottage, to trace the ivy creeping up along its face and chimney, of painted flowers along with real adorning the wood. The thatch roof was overgrown with grasses and flowers alike. It was truly a haven, this little forest clearing, and he was fortunate to have been found. What reason would she possibly have to leave this place? Especially during a storm?

“Something wrong?” Her voice broke him from his thoughts, snapping his attention back to her. Her eyebrow was raised, her features relaxed and set on observing him. He felt the color creep back.

“No – nothing, I was just thinking back to when you found me.” Her smile fell, “And how lucky I was you left this little sanctuary.”

She nodded, quietly setting back to the task at hand for a few moments before speaking once more. “I hadn’t intended to. I was already set in for the night, but something felt…off. I sent Harel here to go check the perimeter and he returned with a shard of metal, a piece of your armor, I think. I followed him to the stream and here we are. And yes, he is the dog I had to bribe.” She smiled at the beast in question before resuming her task.

“You found me not far from here?” His hopes soared, perhaps he would find more evidence of who he was if he returned to the site. “Could we return there?”

She seemed taken aback for a moment, her brow drawing forward in contemplation, her gaze passing over him more than once, before turning to the mabari. “Harel, make sure the way to the river is clear, be careful, and come back when you have seen it so.”

She stood, wiping her hands on a rag before lifting some of the meat up in the hide, the carcass now cleaned. “Let me get this situated. We’ll have breakfast and when Harel returns we will go.”

—

Bastien flew up the stairs three at a time, gasping for breath by the time he reached Leliana’s loft. Theyd found something, Bastien still didn’t know what that something was but with Cullen still missing anything new was vital. He froze when he saw it glinting in the candlelight.

Placed in sections over Leliana’s table… was Cullen’s armor. Bastien’s eyes flicked to Leliana first, but she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but we have no sign of him. We only managed to obtain this from a trader passing by one of our outposts near the wilds. Unfortunately, how he obtained it is still rather obscure, but we are going to find out all he knows.” Leliana’s tone began soothing, but ended sharp and deadly.

Bastien turned his attention back to the armor on the table, focusing on the large gash curling through the metal. This had been the blow that sent him over the cliffs. This had been the strike Derrick had delivered before Bastien managed to get his head on straight. He clenched his teeth, barely noticing when Dorian’s arm curled around his waist and pulled him into his chest.

It was all his fault. His brother had been corrupted by the red lyrium and had attacked him while he stood gaping, making Cullen feel like he needed to save him. Looking at this armor now, it was terrifyingly likely that Cullen was dead… and it was all his fault.


	4. Chapter 4

They had to stop several times for Cullen to catch his breath. The only thing driving him forward was the thought of regaining lost memories, and the only thing slowing him down were his own legs, weak from lack of use. Maerin had forced him to stop several times to eat a small something, to catch his breath, and the entire trip took them the better part of the morning. Fortunately, she had seen this possibility and packed a bag with not only food but blankets, should they need to make camp for the night.

The river was stunning, the whole forest was, really, but the river commanded attention, cutting through the trees and racing over the stones unencumbered. It roared as it crashed over a steep overhang, a waterfall he vaguely remembered. The night flashed in his mind, the lightning and pouring rain in memory, a stark contrast to the bright sun currently sparkling against the tide. After the falls, the river seemed to calm, making its way lazily against reeds and lilies. In its depths, the bright scales of fish could be seen, at least until Harel crashed into the waters, surfacing with a fish in his jowls.

Maerin made her way to the banks, looking for something in the shore, before coming to a stop and motioning Cullen over.

“This is where I found you. As far as I know, there are no settlements or camps nearby, I think the river may have carried you far from home.” She scanned up and down the river bank, “And it looks like someone made off with your armor. I’m sorry.”

His brow drew forward and he scanned the surroundings. There was nothing nearby, no fort - no home. He sighed sharply and stared upstream. He’d been washed down that dreadful current, fallen in that cascade, and managed to make it to shore. The Maker must have played a hand in his survival, there were so many moments he could have lost his life.

He followed the flow of the water, and started. Deep in the pool, just after the falls, something distinctly metal shone. He began to wade into the water, despite Maerin’s protests, and dove, hands clasping around familiar leather, his features breaking into a grin as he came up for air. He waded up the bank slowly before collapsing on the shores, falling hard onto his backside. She was beside him in an instant, but he was uninjured, just a bit winded. When he looked up at her face, she was blushing. He was confused a moment, until he looked down at his soaking wet tunic, see through with the moisture and clinging to his frame. To her credit, she held herself much better than he did as she peeled the wet fabric over his head, muttering about catching a cold under her breath as she wrung it out.

“Is that yours then?” Her voice didn’t waver, but she did take a step back, digging through her bag and pulling out one of the blankets. She wrapped it around his now shivering shoulders before sitting on its edge beside him.

He turned the sword over in his hands, the leather grip was familiar and comforting, an extension of himself sorely missed. It glinted in the light, catching on the notches in the blade. It would need a smith, and re-sharpened, but it was returned to him. His mind flashed with fresher memories, of a dark haired woman holding up her shield in a training yard as they practiced, her heavy accent barking commands and taunts alike. Of that same red haired man, head barely visible over a monstrous shield. Of snowy slopes and too many Maker forsaken stairs.

“Yes.” He shook his head, the strange castle quickly fading from his mind. “I think I was in the mountains, there was snow and… some kind of fortress.”

“The mountains?” She raised her eyebrow, “There are no mountains around here, just rather large hills. Perhaps you had gone out?”

He thought a moment longer, but shook his head. Nothing returned.

“Well, there can’t be many fortresses in the mountains that receive snow.” She nodded her head, “I need to make a trip into town soon, I will see if I can find a map while I am there. If you are feeling well enough, you could come with me. Perhaps someone will recognize you?”

Cullen hesitated, thinking of the large gash in his back. “What if… what if I was to be executed?”

She shook her head, dismissing it quickly. “No, you didn’t see your armor but I did. That is the armor of a high ranking military man, not a criminal to be put to death.”

He stared at her a moment, then smiled wide, shaking his head. “I suppose if I have learned nothing else in the last few days, I have at least learned that I am a pessimist.”

She smiled and gestured to his now soaking wet clothes, “And a bit of a fool.”

He turned deep red, “Yes, that as well.”

She stood, dusting off the traveling clothes she’d changed into and moved the pack closer.

“There is some food in here and another potion if your back starts to hurt. I am going to grab some firewood, I will be right back. Do not move.” She turned towards the Mabari that was currently lying upside down in a sun beam and laughed. “Harel… try and keep an eye out.”

And with that, she disappeared into the underbrush. Harel rolled over long enough to watch her pass before flopping onto his back once more. Cullen returned his attention to the sword in his hand. There were several scratches in the blade, likely remnants from long fought battles. The haft was well worn leather, but cared for, conditioned and oiled often. At the hilt there was a strange symbol, an eye with several spikes, like the rays of the sun, radiating above it, and one single one below it. It seemed so familiar. A brief flash of a young man with a bright smile handing him his sword from a snow drift was followed quickly by several soldiers all standing at attention, hanging on his every word. He had been a commander, at least of sorts, and led a sizable army, if his memory was correct. His head began to ache and he set the blade down in his lap, reaching in the pack for the potion she’d left behind, draining half the contents before re-corking it in case he needed it later.

He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. His back was growing sore, and he didn’t have the strength to stand now that he was seated. He rolled onto his back, twisted in the blankets with his arm folded beneath his head, and nearly immediately fell asleep.

—

He woke to firelight dancing on his eyelids, the lovely sound of Maerin’s soft singing, and the smell of cooking fish. He opened his eyes and saw the warm light from the heavy setting sun bathing the small clearing, casting its warm amber rays to dance in Maerin’s hair and warmth across her skin as she poked at one of the fish propped beside the fire on a stick. Her bright eyes flicked up and locked on his and he colored, having been caught staring yet again.

“I’m glad you are awake. How are you feeling?” She moved on to the next fish.

“Alright. Sorry I dosed off.” He raised an eyebrow at her grin.

“I wouldn’t call it dosing off so much as passing out.” Her voice was tinted with laughter, “But it’s alright, you need to rest and recover. Even with magic, or even especially with magic, healing is an exhausting process.”

“What were you singing?” Cullen blurted, and Maerin colored.

“Oh, um.” She waved a hand in the air dismissively, “It’s a song I heard in Orlais when I was little.”

“Your accent isn’t Orlesian.” Cullen continued, taking the fish from her. He felt as tactful as a trebuchet, the way he was prying her about his past. Unfortunately, without his own memories to discuss, he had nothing else to talk about, and he wanted to hear her voice, no matter what she was saying.

“It may be an Orlesian song, but that does not mean I am Orlesian. My father was from Antiva, he died trying to keep me out of the circle, not that your fellow templars cared.” Her tone was sharp until she sighed and handed him one of the fish, “I’m sorry. That was unfair it is just… a sensitive topic.”

Cullen fell silent, picking at his fish, trying his best to look apologetic. She wrapped another blanket around his shoulders and, taking a fish for herself, settled in beneath it hip to hip.

“I manifested fairly young. I barely remember my mother, the only thing that comes forward is a crown of red hair. My father… I look very much like him, though his hair and skin were far darker than my own. He stole me away when my mother would have handed me over, and he ran. He lived the life of a vagabond so I could remain safe and free. When the templars attacked, he told me to run and I did.” She scoffed, “I didn’t even look back. I try not to blame myself, I was only seven after all, but maybe I could have… done something.”

Cullen’s skin felt too tight. He’d dredged up this painful memory through a harmless desire to hear her speak and a lack of any other topic. He watched as she stretched out her arm and handed her uneaten fish to Harel. Cullen turned deep red as he shifted, moving his arm to brace around her shoulders and pull her towards him, pulling the blanket in tight around them.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, resting his head on top of hers. “There has to be a better way.”

 _The circle is not the answer! The Chantry should not be allowed to rip children from their parents for something that might happen!_ A man’s voice, followed by images of tanned skin and a strange moustache came to the forefront. He felt a bitter sensation in the back of his throat, like he’d just been proven wrong. He shook his head at the memory.

“Well, hopefully the Inquisition will make something of it, but I doubt it. People are too set in their ways to change now and even if they grow powerful enough to force change there will still be resistance.” She sighed, and as much as Cullen had wanted her to speak, had wanted to hear her voice, his mind went blank at the mention of the ‘Inquisition’. His brow furrowed and she shifted away to look at him. “Are you alright?”

His eyes flicked to hers _,_ “Ah, yes, I’m alright. That title just sounds… familiar. I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired.”

“We can revisit it tomorrow. Do you think you’re up for heading back to the cabin tonight?”

Cullen recoiled at the idea, wanting to spend the night just as they were, but knew his back would not tolerate it. He nodded slowly and, with the assistance of both Maerin and Harel, managed to get to his feet and make it back to the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

He woke in the middle of the night drenched in a cold sweat. A warm weight next to him shifted and he colored. He wasn’t sure where he assumed she had been sleeping, but he was a bit surprised to see that it was in the same small bed as him. He was glad for the proximity, however, with nightmares still clinging to the back of his mind. It wasn’t the violent waking dream he’d had upon seeing the lyrium, this was almost worse.

“A memory?” Her voice was warm and gentle, he nodded. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

He paused for a few moments, trying to sort out the flashes still coming to his mind. It had to be a memory, why else would it all still be falling into place when he was awake? There’d been a large battle amid massive trees, white wolves staring down upon them as they struggled. Monstrosities covered in red crystals and torn flesh came after them in waves, a massive sword had descended towards the young man he’d remembered several times now, and he’d jumped in the way, his shield had been thrown uselessly away and a second blow had sent him over a cliff.

“I think it’s a memory of the battle that led me here.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead with his palm. “I remember… nonsense.”

“Try.” She smiled, combing her fingers through his hair, a gesture so intimate yet carried out in such a relaxed manner he felt the tension seep out of him. He took a breath to compose himself.

“I remember… massive trees and strange plants, weirdly colored and noisy birds. Massive white wolves… yet maybe they were statues… watching us all. And monsters, red crystals sticking out of their skin, kept attacking us, wave after wave. There was a man being attacked, I’ve remembered his face a few times now, and I jumped in the way. The opponent which would have felled me sent me over the cliff with…a waterfall? That would explain how I wound up in the river, and how I survived the fall.”

Her brow furrowed a moment, “Massive white wolves, perhaps the wolf statues in the Emerald Graves?”

“The name sounds familiar at least, but that doesn’t sound quite right.”

“Well, the forest starts near the Emprise du Lion,” She looked at him and he nodded that he knew the name, “And continues through the Emerald Graves then into the Arbor Wilds, but no one-“

“That’s it!” Cullen jolted in bed, turning to face her and her eyes went wide. “Arbor Wilds. I was there.”

“Very few people have gone into the wilds and made it back out alive.” Maerin emphasized, her hands dropping to toy with the circular pendant of her necklace, “What would you have been doing there?”

“We were…chasing something. Someone. I’m not exactly sure but we cornered them there.” His tone was excited and he stood to pace the room. Seeing that sword, that symbol, perhaps hearing the name Inquisition, something had jarred memories loose, and despite their terrible content, he was glad to have them back, to have pieces of himself back.

“This is a lot to process in the middle of the night,” Maerin laughed, pulling her braided hair forward and re-braiding it more out of stress than an actual need to do so. Cullen saw the nervous gesture and smiled. He went to the small kitchen, which she’d given him a brief tour of, and grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the pitcher and bringing it to her. She smiled at him and shook her head, taking the glass.

“You’ve come a long way from being unconscious on my bed.” She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him, turning into a full grin when he colored. “Does it bother you that I’m here? I can-“

“No, its fine, it’s your bed.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I just… I don’t know, I guess I didn’t really think about where you slept.”

Harel snorted outside, scratching at the door. Maerin rose to open it, her loose nightshirt outlining her frame. Cullen sat back down at the edge of the bed, determined to look anywhere else. Harel sat before him, putting a massive paw on his leg and huffing indignantly. Maerin crawled back into bed behind him and pulled the sheets up to her chin.

“He is pouting because he usually shares the bed with me. I honestly prefer you there, you don’t wake me up scratching in the middle of the night.” She patted the pillow, not noticing or ignoring Cullen’s continued blush, “Come on, let’s get some sleep, the sun will be up in a few hours and we can talk about all this then.”

Cullen obeyed and pulled the covers up to his chin, turning towards the wall, and consequently Maerin, to avoid the Mabari’s glower. He heard the beast shift and flop heavily before the fire. When he looked forward, he realized he was only a few inches from Maerin, wedged beside one another as they were on her small bed. Her eyes were closed, her thick lashes striking dark lines over her tanned skin, hiding her beautiful, intelligent eyes. He sighed through his nose, trying not to blow air on her face, and closed his eyes as well, trying desperately to calm his heart. He was so wound up now, both by her proximity, and the sudden flood of his memories. He knew he should sleep, knew he would regret it in the morning if he did not, but he couldn’t.

The bed shifted once more and he struggled to keep his eyes closed when he heard her clear her throat. He was about to say something, anything, when she began to sing in a low, soft tone.

_Il me dit des mots d’amour_

_Des mots de tous les jours_

_Et ça me fait quelque chose_

Cullen’s eyes began to grow heavy as she continued singing gently in what he used to consider Orlesian drivel. Somehow, when she spoke it, when she sang it, Orlesian nonsense turned into poetry. He never wanted her to stop, he didn’t want to fall asleep.

_Il est entré dans mon cœur_

_Une part de bonheur_

_Dont je connais la cause_

But his body was betraying him. Her hand had resumed stroking his hair, her voice remained gentle, and he felt his body begin to sink.

_Quand il me prend dans ses bras_

_Il me parle tout bas_

_Je vois la vie en rose_

Her voice began to fade, and Cullen fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Translation for the lyrics:  La Vie en Rose ->He tells me words of love, Words of every day, And in them I become something. — He has entered my heart, A part of happiness, Whereof I understand the reason. —When he takes me in his arms, And speaks softly to me, I see life in rosy hues. 
> 
> The less direct English translation is probably more familiar: When you Press me to your Heart, I’m in a World Apart, a World where Roses Bloom – And when you Speak they will Sing from Above, Everyday Words seem to turn into Love songs…—Hold me Close and Hold Me Fast, the Magic’s still your Guest; this is La Vie en Rose.)


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days were a blur of chores and chatter, mostly on Cullen’s part. She had him carrying small loads of things about the clearing, holding the basket while she harvested apples, chopping more firewood, anything to help build up his strength, but he barely noticed. His memories were rushing back in a flood, eager to make themselves known to him and, consequently, Maerin as he couldn’t hold his excitement back. She didn’t seem to mind, a soft smile a near permanent fixture on her face as he followed her about, talking her ear off. Occasionally she would ask a question, provide some bit of information, and Cullen would either jump at it or pause, but either way, she prompted more and more to come forth.

He was a bit surprised how eager he was to share all of this with her, this woman he’d barely known two weeks – including the time he’d been unconscious – and already he was spilling all of his secrets. He’d told her about his decision to refuse lyrium, leaving the order, his time in the order, somehow they’d gotten on the topic of his childhood and his family, to commanding forces… the only thing he couldn’t remember was names. He could describe their faces perfectly, but aside from his family, none of the names would come forth. She assured him it would come with time, using the current flood as opposed to the barren wasteland a few days ago as proof. He wanted to believe her, but he was still unsure.

“Don’t force yourself,” She laughed, “You have enough to process as it is.”

“I know,” He sighed, quickly turning to a grin with the sound of her laugher, “I just wish I had it all now.”

“Well, you are welcome to stay here until you know where you belong. I seem to have a habit of picking up strays.” She winked and Harel barked, hopping around them in a circle as they walked back to the house, sun hanging low in the horizon.

He set the basket of vegetables on the kitchen counter, taking out those she’d mentioned she would cook for dinner. Part of him didn’t want to leave. He wanted to tell anyone who would care that he was alright, but he enjoyed this domesticity. He liked this feeling of home, of calm, of nothing to do but manual labor and no major decisions forced on him. Tanned fingers brushed his hand and he looked at her. She was smiling, but her eyes held a question and he smiled back. She nodded and took the vegetables from him, cleaning them in a basin. He couldn’t help but watch her.

She was so beautiful, so patient and so very kind. He never wanted to leave. He knew in his heart he had a duty to fulfill and that he had to return, but he was torn. Why couldn’t he have this life? Why couldn’t he have her? He colored at the thought and moved the basket to rest beside the others near the hearth. Would she come with him when he left? He didn’t know how he felt about that idea. Here, she was safe and well fed. That strange fortress in the mountains, it seemed too dangerous for her, too rough. He wanted to be with her always, and his heart hammered at the realization that he had fallen. He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again.

“Cullen?” She pressed his shoulder until he faced her. Her hand pressed against his forehead, “Is everything alright, you’ve been staring at the fire for a while.”

He took her hand in his, his cheeks burning. “I-…um.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t honestly know how to say this.”

“Well, you’ve been blurting out your thoughts all day and that seems to be working.” She laughed, “Why not try that?”

He tried, but the words seemed stuck in his throat, only choosing to erupt forth when she began to pull away. “I care for you.”

She froze, eyes wide, color mounting to her cheeks though nowhere near as heavy as Cullen’s blush. He clasped her hand in both of his. “I… don’t want to leave this place. I don’t want to leave you. Whatever happens, wherever I go, I want you there with me.”

“I- uh – Cullen, you – … you don’t- …you couldn’t.” She shook her head, trying to pull her hand away. He pulled her closer.

“But I do. And why not?” His voice was surprisingly stable as he brushed his fingers against her cheek, stilling her. “You’re so beautiful, but… that’s nothing compared to who you are. You’re so marvelously intelligent, creative, kind… How could I not care for you?”

She wavered, lips parting as she tried to control her breathing. Her cheeks were flushed and he was certain that if he let go of her hand, she would fly from him.

“I’m sorry,” He sighed, “I shouldn’t have blurted all of that out but… do you not feel the same?”

Her eyes flicked away and she swallowed hard in a gesture Cullen initially took as rejection.

“I… enjoy your company. Perhaps more than I should.” She shook her head, pulling her hand away before looking up at him, her eyes wavering. “You have an entire world already Cullen, I may not have a place in it.”

“Of course you do.” He shook his head, stepping closer, his hand falling to her hip. “If…you wish it, I will see it so.”

“You can’t make that promise.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he’d leaned in close enough to feel the words against his lips just before pressing them to hers. For a brief moment, he felt pure bliss. Her soft lips pressed against his, the small whimper that escaped her, the small hand that pressed against his chest as he pulled her closer, until a log broke in the fire with a snap and jarred her back to her senses. She pushed gently, taking a step back and breaking the kiss though he still held her in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, his thumb tracing her jaw. The kiss was far too brief, he wanted more.  

“This.” She took another step, breaking his hold on her. “I will not take advantage of you.”

Cullen froze, if anything he felt he was taking advantage of her. She scoffed and shook her head.

“You have no idea if someone is waiting for you back home.” She swallowed hard, “You could be married, or betrothed, you may even have children.”

“Then why haven’t I remembered any of it?” He pressed, stepping closer.

“You don’t have it all back yet, but it may come, and you will regret this.” She stepped back, turning to begin chopping the vegetables for their dinner.

“I will never regret kissing you.” He murmured, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned into his touch ever so slightly before sighing.

“I care for you as well Cullen.” His heart soared even as he braced for the ‘but’. “However, I will not act on my feelings until I know for certain that you are not… attached to anyone else.”

He turned her to face him, “And if I am not?”

“Though I don’t see how that’s possible,” She looked up at him, a sad smile on her face, “Then… I would love to kiss you again.”

He pulled her into his chest, pressing her tightly against him, his grin taking over his face. He didn’t have anyone else waiting for him, at least not in that manner. He would have remembered… right? She did have a point, he couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t feel guilty for hoping. He reluctantly released her, and for the first time managed to get a solid look at her pendant. It was a ring, silver and well kept with wolves running to circle it, small gemstones in their eyes. She cleared her throat and his eyes flicked back to hers to see her fully blushing. Though he’d been staring at the ring, it was resting on her chest, and he let her go immediately and began to stammer.

“I-I was looking at… at your necklace. It looked familiar.” He rubbed the back of his neck furiously before turning.

“It does?” She pulled it up to look at it closer, “My father said it used to belong to my mother, that he’d switched their rings before he took me away so she would always have something to remember him and he could always remember her. Somewhere out there, my mother has its match. You didn’t… happen to see it on a woman with red hair did you?”

Cullen paused a moment, he remembered the ring, and he remembered its bearer had red hair, but it was that same man with the green eyes who bore it. “No, it was a man, though he did have red hair.”

She pondered a moment before slipping the ring back into her dress. “Well, she must have sold it then.”

She tried to keep her tone light, but Cullen could hear the bit of sadness in her tone. He reached for her and pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. “We will figure it out, I promise.”

She laughed and pulled away. “I’m sure we will. Now, since you seem to have so much energy, why don’t you go fill the water pitcher at the well?”


	7. Chapter 7

Fortunately, town was not far. While Cullen had regained a good portion of his strength, he still felt winded easily. Harel, as it turned out was very observant, moving to lean against his side to support him when he pushed a bit too far. They reached the town by mid-morning, settling in at a small tavern for an early lunch.

“I learned my lesson early, never go to the market when you are hungry, there is no way you can carry it all back.” She eyed him over, “Though maybe with your help…”

He laughed and nodded to the waitress who’d brought their small plate of fruit and mugs of tea. She went over the list once more before they set out, weaving their way through the crowded streets. Cullen was rather proud of himself, he managed to convince her to hold his hand, out of pure necessity of course, to make their way through the market. She gave him a look that said she only half believed him and sighed, lacing her fingers through his.

They’d been out for nearly an hour when Cullen needed a rest. She set him and the small basket she’d brought on the edge of the central fountain and left to go grab a few smaller items while he rested. He was still staring after her when it happened.

“Commander! Maker’s breath, it’s the Commander!” A voice cried out and two individuals wearing green and brown uniforms ran up to him. He recognized the symbol on their chest immediately; it matched the one on his sword.

“Um… do I know you?” He glanced back and forth between the two. Their uniforms seemed very familiar, but their faces…

“W-well Commander,” The two men glanced nervously at one another before one spoke up, “Not… well, no, we are new to the Inquisition. We are part of the scouting party sent to find you. Oh Maker, the Inquisitor will be so relieved!”

The Inquisitor, the head of the Inquisition, cared about Cullen? He desperately hoped this individual wasn’t a woman he was romantically involved with. But more to the point, they’d been searching for him, he was missed, he had a place, and these two nervous men seemed to look up to him as a leader, and a powerful one if their posture was any indication.

“How have you survived? We heard you fell off a cliff!” One piped up, only to be silenced by the other.

“That’s enough, we have to get the Commander back to Skyhold. Ask your questions while we ride.” He bowed briefly and offered a hand nervously to help Cullen stand, but it remained empty.

Skyhold. That was the name of the fortress in the mountains. But from the map they’d seen at the tavern it was quite a distance away.

“What cliff?” He asked the first man who spoke, his gaze intense and the man faltered.

“Th-the one in the Arbor Wilds, ser, at the Well of Sorrows.” And it all came rushing back. The boy he’d saved, the blow he’d received, why they’d been there in the first place… Corypheus. He was the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, that was where he belonged. He braced his head in his hands as the memories flowed forth, this time with names. _Cassandra, Dorian, Bastien, Bull…_ “Commander?”

“What’s going on here?” He looked up at the sound of her voice, gaze immediately finding hers. She must have seen his distress because within moments she was between him and the Inquisition scouts. “I’ll have to ask you to leave my friend be, he is not well.”

The men looked at each other, then turned their focus on her, flicking briefly towards Cullen.

“What is your relationship with the Commander?” The bolder of the two asked.

“What is yours?” She snapped, tossing the herbs she’d brought back into the basket. She placed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder and a sword slid free, forcing her back.

“Get away from him witch.” The man snapped, pointing his sword at her. At the confused look of his companion, he continued, “She’s got a compulsion on him, that’s why he didn’t recognize us.”

“Excuse me? I have done no such thing!” She snapped, beside her, Harel growled low.

Cullen’s head was spinning with the new information, but he stood, slamming his palm into the flat side of the sword to get its point away from Maerin.

“You will not point your weapons at her.” He growled low and the two men stepped back.

“We don’t want to hurt you, Commander, but you don’t understand. This witch has-“

“Do not call her that.” He boomed, gaining the attention of everyone in earshot. “Sheath your sword, recruit.”

The man faltered, and seemed about to comply, when six more men entered, all in the Inquisition uniform, drawn by the sudden commotion. Harel bared his teeth and snapped at the men growing closer. Maerin pressed herself against Cullen, wedged between Harel and the wall of his back.

“Maerin, I remembered who I am.” He sighed, lacing his fingers with hers, “I am the Commander of the Inquisitions forces. I was fighting alongside the Inquisitor in the Arbor Wilds, that’s how I wound up here.”

“Inquisition!” The bold recruit piped in, “This woman has the Commander under a compulsion so he may not recognize you!” A murmur circulated among the crowd, faces Maerin had known for years turned sour against her. No matter how this ended, she could never come back. She glared at the man.

“Your companion has no idea what he is talking about. You left your commander injured and bleeding, he lost his memory and nearly his life. That is on your head, not mine.” She snapped, loud enough for all to hear.

“Do not listen to the witch! We would have found her if she had left him!” The man turned to his compatriots, “We take her with us, she will undo this compulsion at Skyhold and be judged by our Inquisitor!”

Maerin blanched, and Cullen could take no more of this.

“That is enough.” His voice carried and he stood tall, towering over the men before him. “She is no witch and I am under no such compulsion. She is a skilled healer who has saved my life and brought me into town to help me remember, in the hopes that someone would recognize me, as you have. If she meant to keep me under lock and key, why bring me here on market day?”

A low murmur sounded and he glared down at the man who’d tried to incite chaos, barely resisting the protective urge welling in his chest. His voice was a low growl when he spoke. “Apologize.”

There was a heartbeat where he didn’t think the man would, but after a moment, he swallowed his pride and bowed low, apologizing for his misunderstanding, blaming it all on his anxiety over the commander’s safe return. Around them, people still murmured, the scouts still seemed uneasy.

“Voice your concerns, I would hear them now.”

“How do we know you aren’t just under her spell?” A young man piped up, his armor barely fitting.

“Because Commander Cullen Rutherford wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen.” A familiar voice carried no small amount of humor and Cullen whirled, smiling at the sight.

“Rylen.” He nodded relieved, extending a hand, “It is very good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Rylen gripped his hand in return, patting his shoulder, squeezing his hand fairly hard as if to reassure himself that he was really there. “We thought we’d lost you.”

“I am very much alive, thanks to her.” Cullen gestured to Maerin, who took a step back, Harel braced against her legs, hackles still raised.

“About that…” Rylen rubbed the back of his neck and approached slowly, addressing the mabari first, “I only wish to talk.” Harel didn’t budge. Rylen braced his fist to his chest and gave Maerin a deep bow. “First, I must thank you for saving our Commander, he is a good man, and the world would be less for his loss. Secondly, I must ask that you accompany us back to Skyhold.”

Maerin’s panicked glance flicked to Cullen and he moved to stand beside her. “Why?”

“Come now, Cullen you know why.” Rylen stood, shifting on his feet, “We need to hear what has happened. If we do not bring her now, with you, you know Leliana will send people for her later. This is the safer path.”

Though Cullen hated it, he knew it to be true. “Give me a moment with her.” Rylen nodded and motioned the scouts to disperse, the tension visibly seeping out of Harel, but Maerin continued to tremble. He braced a hand on her shoulder and she flinched. “Maerin-“

“I do not want to go with them.” She blurted, her hands folded over her chest, eyes flicking towards the inquisition scouts and Rylen just a few feet away.

“They only wish to speak with you,” He ducked his head to look her in the eye, her usual confident demeanor withering, her whole form trembling, “No one will harm you, I swear it. Please, trust me.”

Her eyes were wide when they met his, sharp with fear beneath the shadow of her hair. “Please don’t make me go.”

Cullen’s heart broke and he lurched forward, curling her into his arms and burying his face into her hair. What could he say that would sway her? Promises of protection? He could offer it, but he understood her fear. Her experience with a small group of templars did this to her, years of living in fear, and now, all because he couldn’t defeat Derrick, he was forcing her back into it. How long had she lived peacefully without him? How long would she have continued to do so, with her faithful mabari and her secret cottage? He felt more than heard her sob and his arms circled tighter, hand stroking her hair.

“I am sorry I brought this upon you, but I will not say I regret meeting you.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “The people I work with… they will not leave you in peace until they have spoken to you and they will not come here. If you do not go to them, you will be taken by force.”

She looked up at him, eyes faintly rimmed red, face damp with tears and he swallowed hard.

“I will be by your side for as long as you allow me. After you have said what is needed, you are welcome to stay with me, or I will see you safely home, if that is your desire.” He wasn’t sure what he wished for more, her safe in her hidden cottage or locked away in his loft.

She seemed to regard his words a moment, eyes flicking back and forth on his for a long while before she sighed and pulled away, motioning Harel to her side. “Harel can come?”

Cullen immediately nodded. "Of course." 

“Then I will go to your fortress and answer their questions. But I demand my freedom.” Her voice was harder than he’d ever heard her and he wanted to reach out once more, but something in her posture, in Harel’s, told him that was unwise.

“Of course,” He paused, “Do you need anything back at the cottage?”

“Yes, but I will do without. I won’t have them knowing its location.” He understood completely, it belonged to her and she needed it safe. He hoped she would understand he would never put her in danger.

“Maerin I promise, they will do you no harm. You can trust them.” Her eyes found his as he spoke and a small, sad smile came to her lips.

“How would you know?” Her eyes moved back towards the inquisition scouts, watching them carefully. “Regardless of the Inquisitor’s position on mages, I cannot trust his men implicitly, I am no fool.”

Her words bit deep and he felt the air rush from him. He knew it was his fault, he knew he deserved this, but the idea that she felt betrayed stung. Rylen touched him on the shoulder and he nodded, they needed to get moving while there was still daylight. She did not step back when he reached for her hand, but her grip was loose in his, her posture defensive and ready to flee. A large crowd had gathered to see the exchange, parting just enough to allow them to pass to the stables. They made it well out of town without incident, until one of the scouts attempted to bind Maerin’s wrists.

Her reaction was nearly as violent as Cullen’s. The ropes erupted in flame within mere seconds, nearly the same time it took Cullen to grab the scout by the collar and toss him aside.

“She is a mage?” Rylen glanced Cullen over, and he nodded. Maerin shifted beside him, ready to flee but Rylen only sighed and murmured, “Good to know.”

He mounted his massive stallion and addressed the scouts, “Maerin is travelling to Skyhold of her own will, we are not to harm her, or bind her, in any way. She saved our commander’s life, show some gratitude.”

The scouts looked at one another nervously before following behind Rylen’s mount. A few scouts stayed behind, approaching Maerin but stopping a few feet away.

“We are sorry for our comrade’s behavior. Not all of us fear mages. We wanted to thank you for saving our Commander’s life, and apologize for the need to take you to Skyhold. If there is anything you need, any concerns you may have, we ask that you come to us and we will do whatever we can to aid you.” They bowed in unison before jogging off to follow after Rylen’s horse. After helping Maerin onto the small mare, he swung into the saddle of a large gelding, motioning her forward. Harel was hard at their heels as they headed towards Skyhold.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't honestly intended for this to continue as a separate fic?? But it seems people are actually enjoying it so I guess I should?? I dont know how frequently I will be updating, I will be focusing on finishing up my main fic Stumbling. The stories merge in the Stumbling Chapter called "Return".

Skyhold was roiling, the press of bodies barely contained as the soldiers struggled to clear a path towards the stables. He could feel Maerin trembling, and as desperately as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, every gesture was painful. He’d been on horseback for far too long, his back was screaming at him to get off the beast, to plead with Maerin to flood his tender flesh with her magic, anything to make it stop.

“Cullen!” A familiar voice shouted and he turned to see that red headed man struggling his way through the crowds to try to get to him, the crowd oblivious to their Inquisitor’s presence. Slowly swinging down off his horse, with the help of a few scouts, he made his way towards Bastien and embraced him. He’d lost a bit of weight, but he was alive. They’d both approached the brink of death and somehow made it back in one piece, if not a bit scarred and tired. Cullen grinned down at him, gripping his hand firmly.

“It is good to see you, Bastien.”

“Likewise.” Bastien grinned back, releasing Cullen’s hand as Cassandra approached to embrace him in turn. It wasn’t long before Cullen was fully surrounded by the people who cared for him, who’d desperately missed him. It seemed wholly impossible he’d survive, and Cullen didn’t seem to be the only one thinking it.

“I must ask, how did you manage to survive? We recovered your armor but it was in poor shape.” Leliana spoke up, “It did not seem likely you would survive such an injury.”

Cullen colored a bit and gestured towards Maerin. She sat rigidly on the back of a horse, her long auburn hair windswept around her face, her bright azure eyes glancing frantically at the excited crowd undulating around her. At her feet, Harel stood hunched, ears back and sniffing, snarling at anyone who tried to approach.

“She found me face down in a river bank and nursed me back to health. I’m fairly certain she is regretting that decision at the moment.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “She was… not pleased with the idea of coming to Skyhold.”  

Bastien regarded the woman carefully, and Cullen watched her shift in the saddle. Her tanned skin shimmered with a barrier, her entire frame radiated fear, a desperate desire to flee, Cullen felt helpless. Nothing he could say to her would assuage her fears, he would just have to hope his compatriots would behave in a manner that would encourage her to trust them. Bastien was the first to approach her, a wide, charming smile on his face. He approached her slowly, stopping when Harel’s gaze flicked to him and he began to growl.

“My name is Bastien Trevelyan, and on behalf of the entire Inquisition I would be honored to express my gratitude. Your rescue of Commander Cullen is nothing short of miraculous. He is very dear to us and we felt his loss keenly. You are welcome to remain in Skyhold for as long as you like, please make yourself at home.”

“I would rather leave if it’s an option.” Her voice was clipped, her eyes hard on his. “I was not brought here by choice.”

“I would speak with you first,” Leliana stepped forward, hands folded behind her back, “After which you are welcome to depart when we have troops to escort you home.”

“And if I refuse?” Her tone was sharp as she addressed Leliana. Bastien stepped forward, hand outstretched and the warmest smile he could muster on his face.

“Please, just give us a chance. We are friends of mages here and no harm will come to you. You are free to roam Skyhold to your heart's content. At the very least, Cullen should show you our garden.” Her gaze followed his hand, seeming to lock onto it for a moment. Her eyes narrowed, her face pulling to a scowl before widening in surprise. She looked at him, then down to the ring before shaking her head.

“Very well. I will stay for one night. After that, I will take my leave as I see fit.” Cullen did his best to hide the disappointment, but Dorian’s arched brow showed he hadn’t hidden it very well. She swung off her horse and Harel glued himself to her leg.

“May we know your names?” Bastien added, taking an additional step forward and offering his hand.

She took it timidly, shaking it briefly before letting go. The mabari sniffed at him and seemed to relax, a gesture which appeared to soothe at least some of her concern.

“My name is Maerin, this is Harel.” The mabari leaned into her touch as she rested a hand on his head. Bastien laughed outright, startling the both of them.

“I’m sorry,” He grinned, “It has been a long few weeks so something somewhat funny seems hilarious. He just seems like such a sweet and protective beast but you named him ‘Dread’.”

Maerin smiled, looking down at the dog, “It was the only one he liked, I don’t think it fits him well either.”

Harel snorted, tongue lolling to the side in a grin when he looked up to Maerin’s smiling face.

“Well then, I’m certain you are exhausted from your trip. Cullen, please show her to whatever room she would like then get some rest yourself.” Josephine interjected giving Bastien a pointed look before motioning to the crowd to disperse.

“Yes, sorry. My excitement got the better of me. Please, I hope we can speak more later.” He ducked his head and took a step back, embarrassed at his very public overexcitement.

“Don’t rest too long, Curly. It’s been too long since I beat you at wicked grace, that changes tonight.” Varric grinned, pointing a thumb at Bastien, “Rosie here is getting too good.”

Cullen nodded farewell to them all and, gently taking Maerin by the shoulder, guided her to his office. She seemed eager to follow him, up the stairs and away from the crowds still milling about, prying information from the scouts about Cullen’s return. Harel bounded to the top, then stared down at them impatiently, eager to see the grounds. His excitement seemed to calm her slightly, and Cullen nearly started from his skin when her fingers gently laced with his.

“I would stay with you, if that is alright.” Her voice was so soft he barely heard her. His heart skipped at the realization that she wished to stay by his side, at least for however long she would remain.


End file.
